


What would William James Murray do?

by Anonymous



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A day in the life of Raymond Jacob Holt.
Relationships: Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44
Collections: Anonymous





	What would William James Murray do?

**Author's Note:**

> I have worked on this since March, then my laptop died and I lost it. Now I'm doing my best to bring it back. I'm basically posting so I don't lose it again.

As usual Raymond Holt woke up two minutes before the alarm on his bedside table was set to go off. Out of habit, he glanced at the glowing display, confirming that it was indeed 6:28 a.m., Wednesday March 6 th . He turned over to face his husband. Kevin was still asleep, lying on his side, his preferred sleeping position, which was in complete defiance of what any rational mind would dictate, but he looked all the more enticing for it.

For a few moments Raymond simply drank in the sight of the man he loved. It was comforting to see Kevin’s face softened by sleep, his head resting on the pillow next to Raymond’s. In the past couple of years, Raymond had woken up in an empty bed too often to take this for granted.

Between them, Kevin was the one who needed an alarm clock. Undisturbed, he would sleep until 8 a.m., a baffling 8:30 even, after a particularly long night of reading term papers.

Kevin’s left eyebrow twitched.

Raymond could not resist any longer, he reached out to run a knuckle along his husband’s jaw, to feel the prickle of his beard against his skin. The next breath Kevin drew was deeper than the ones before. It turned into a soft sigh as he exhaled. Slowly, Kevin opened his eyes.

Breaking into a smile, Raymond whispered, “Good morning, Professor Kevin Cozner.”

Kevin blinked and returned his smile. “Good morning, Captain Raymond Holt,” he replied, voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

As if in answer to his question, the alarm on the nightstand began to beep. Without looking, Raymond reached over and pushed the button to turn it off.

He cupped Kevin’s cheek, his thumb tracing his husband’s lower lip.

“6:30. I am afraid I have to get up,” he said. Kevin, the sly devil, chose that very moment to part his lips, his tongue darting out to wet the pad of Raymond’s thumb.

“I see,” Kevin said as though unaware of his actions and their effect on Raymond, “that is…” A pause at the perfect moment, Kevin’s breath warming Raymond’s skin, “regrettable.”

“Yes,” Raymond, too, left a pregnant pause wherein he stroked his husband’s cheek once before withdrawing reluctantly, “indeed.”

“I trust you have a busy day ahead of you,” he said as he slipped out of bed.

“Hm, I have to be at the university at nine. Then I have some shopping to do this afternoon, unfortunately.”

Raymond raised an eyebrow at Kevin’s sleep-slurred reply. “Should I reset the alarm for you, dear?”

“Yes, I think that would be wise. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Eight a.m.?”

“Hm.”

While Raymond stood by the bed, fiddling with the alarm clock, Kevin rolled over onto the side he had just vacated, and, lying on his stomach, buried his face in Raymond’s pillow. Clearly, he was already half-asleep again.

Raymond smiled to himself. “Do pick up some of those little sausage treats Cheddar likes if you get the chance. We are almost out.”

Kevin made a breathy pre-verbal noise that Raymond took as confirmation that his request had been heard, understood and would be fulfilled.

He allowed himself one last long look at his husband before he would go to the bathroom, shower, shave, get dressed and face the day.

Kevin’s pajama top had rucked up and his blanket slid down, exposing his pale lower back.

“You are a savage,” Raymond said fondly, wrestling down temptation. He pressed his lips to the back of Kevin’s neck and tugged the blanket up to his husband’s shoulders. “I love you.”

There was no reply. Kevin had gone back to sleep.

***

When the elevator doors slid open, Captain Raymond Holt was greeted by the familiar sounds of his precinct: telephones ringing, the tapping of fingers on keyboards, someone cursing at a jammed copier and the voices of detectives Scully and Hitchcock raised in a no doubt pointless argument.

Nodding a greeting, Raymond strode past their desks without stopping.

“— their carbonara sauce is a travesty!”

Yes, pointless.

“How dare you besmirch the name of Ristorante Albertino?! I swear I’d kill you if I could just find my—”

The door to his office clicked shut, cutting off the rest of the sentence, which Raymond could only hope was not  _ gun _ . Dear God, let it not be gun. Suppressing a sigh, he sank into his chair. A glance at his wristwatch told him that it was 7:55. In five minutes, he would give the morning briefing. In five minutes, the alarm on his bedside table would go off again and wake Kevin. While he gathered his files for the briefing, Raymond allowed himself to indulge in thoughts of his husband.

Files assembled, Raymond got up and made his way to the briefing room, once more ignoring Hitchcock and Scully, who were now crawling around on the floor on all fours. A couple of feet from them stood Detective Rosa Diaz, her arms folded across her chest, a look of open disgust on her face. As he walked past, she interrupted her glaring at them for a second to nod at him.

“Morning, Captain.”

Raymond nodded back, appreciating the efficiency of her greeting as well as the blankness of her tone. “Good morning, Detective Diaz.”

“Found it,” Scully shouted.

“You’ve got it?” Hitchcock looked up, eyes shining with hope.

“Yeah, it’s the cookie I dropped last Friday!”

“That’s not what we’re looking for,” Hitchcock snarled, shooting a guilty glance in Raymond’s general direction.

“What? It’s triple chocolate!”

“Briefing, you morons, let’s go.” Diaz turned on her heel and followed Raymond to the briefing room, where most of the squad was already assembled.

Raymond dropped his files on the lectern and put on his reading glasses.

As expected, Peralta’s chair was still empty; less expected and somewhat disappointing was that Sergeant Santiago was also nowhere to be seen.

Intellectually, he knew of the effects of marriage, of course. He himself had changed over the years with Kevin, their habits becoming more similar the longer they lived together. Why, now he sometimes slept till seven, something that would have been unheard of in his younger years. As a matter of fact, these days, Raymond Holt might eat breakfast on a weekend at  _ nine _ o’clock and said breakfast might consist of  _ French toast with a bacon smile _ on it, prepared for him by his husband. And Raymond would enjoy said breakfast though it contained more than the required amount of calories for that period of the day– Kevin would look at him, accurately guess this unvoiced thought and suggest in that particular tone of his:  _ I suppose we will have to find a way to work this off later with some light to moderate exercise _ .

Raymond would hold his husband’s smoldering gaze and reply _ , Or perhaps…  _ strenuous _ exercise. _

_ Strenuous exercise? Raymond… _

That meaningful eyebrow quirk…

Raymond looked down at the open file on his lectern, pushing the mental image away before it could fluster him more than it already had.

One thing was certain, Kevin was spoiling him rotten.

He cleared his throat.

“Has anyone seen Detective Peralta and Sergeant Santiago?”

“No sir, they’re officially late,” Sergeant Jeffords said, voice tinged with annoyance.

“They’re newlyweds!” Boyle chimed in, outraged on behalf of his friends. “They’re probably busy making the world’s cutest baby! And rightfully so, because the world needs more Jake, and I guess some Amy won’t hurt, but definitely more Jake!”

“Ugh, Boyle, gross.” Diaz rolled her eyes. She leaned back in her chair, shrugged. “But yeah, most likely boning.”

Raymond shot her a warning glare. She had better not forgotten about their ʻtalkʼ regarding the use of this particular term.

“What?” she asked. “Not like it’s happening in your bedroom, right?” She paused, contemplating what she had just said, then added, “Though it’d be a real turn on for Amy if it was. Girl’s a freak.”

“In the captain’s bedroom? Oh, Jakey would love that too. But then, he might not be able to perform under so much pressure. He’s really sensitive—”

“ _Detectives!_ _Stop!_ ” Sensing the rapid shortening of Raymond’s fuse, Jeffords jumped out of his chair and slapped a hand down on his table. To everyone’s surprise the cheap piece of furniture did not collapse. “This is _highly_ inappropriate! I’m sorry, Captain Holt, please let’s just start without them.”

“Or don’t!” came Jake’s voice from the door as he hurried inside, Santiago ducking in behind him, her eyes trained on the floor. “Because here we are! We are here and totally on time!”

“You are nine minutes late, Peralta,” Raymond announced without glancing at his watch. Then he focused his attention on the young Sergeant who could not meet his eyes. “ _ Santiago,  _ I expected better from  _ you _ .” She cringed visibly.

“They’re newlyweds!” Boyle protested.

“Yep, and we were smushing booty all night long, that’s why we’re late. No other reason, hashtag greatest sex life ever.”

“Actually…” Santiago frowned at her husband. “I’m sorry, sir, Jake had a health scare and we thought we had to go to the hospital.”

“Oh my God, Jake, you’re sick?” Boyle jumped up from his chair, sending it scraping across the floor. “We have to freeze your sperm before it’s too late!”

Choosing to ignore Boyle, Raymond studied Peralta. The detective looked somewhat sweatier than the mild spring weather warranted, but then he was also currently trying to dodge his best friend’s… whatever Boyle’s flailing was... Hopefully not attempts to extract Peralta’s semen.

“In that case,” Raymond said, “I apologize. This sounds serious. Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” Santiago nodded. “It turned out to be a false alarm, thank God.”

“Hear that, Charles? False alarm, I’m fine!”

“You might still want to freeze some of that sperm. You never know!”

“Charles, no! Anyway, we never have to talk about this ever again and can just change the topic and start the morning briefing right now. I mean, I’m sure lots of important things are happening in the precinct and we need to talk about  _ them _ , right? Someone back me up on this!”

“Oh!” Detective Scully perked up. “Something important did happen! Hitchcock lost his gu—”

“Gum!” interrupted a panicking Hitchcock. “I lost my gum! It fell out of my mouth! I’m heartbroken about it.”

“Oookay,” said Peralta, “I’m sure there’s nothing more to  _ that _ .”

Raymond cleared his throat. “The morning briefing?” he asked the room at large, while fixing Peralta with a pointed glare. “Perhaps we could begin?”

***

After he had dismissed the squad, Raymond tucked his files under his arm and made his way back to his office.

Only this time, he did stop by Hitchcock’s desk, where the detective was seemingly busy with some paperwork of his own. At least he was staring intently at an open case file. A little too intently. His gaze was fixed on one spot, his pupils not moving.

“Detective Hitchcock?”

“Yes sir…?” Hitchcock looked up as though startled out of a state of deep concentration.

Putting one hand on the detective’s shoulder, Raymond leaned in close. “Find. Your. Gun,” he said, overenunciating every word, letting them drop from his lips like deadly boulders. Then he turned to the sergeant who had been standing by, watching in grim silence. “Sergeant Jeffords, make sure he does.”

“Understood, Captain.”

As he walked away, he heard Hitchcock whisper, “How the hell did he know I lost my gun?”

“No clue,” replied Scully, “sometimes I think he can read our minds…”

With a soft click, the door to his office fell shut behind Raymond.

***

By lunchtime the day had been so dismal that Raymond felt tempted to call his husband just to hear his voice. He had his phone in his hand when Peralta knocked on his door. It was his instantly recognizable over-enthusiastic, I have great news and I can’t contain myself knock. The raps quick and forceful and chaotic, reminiscent of a herd of tiny buffalo stampeding the prairie.

“Yes?” Raymond said as he put his phone down.

“Heyyy, Captain!” Peralta stuck his head in. “Are you in a great mood? If not, you’re gonna be in a couple of minutes!”

“I am in a neutral mood, as is appropriate for the workplace.”

“Uh… okay, prepare to be in an even neutraler mood then?”

Raymond resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Briefly, he found himself missing Gina; she would have done enough eyerolling for the both of them.

“Come in, Peralta.”

Jake strode in, brandishing a casefile. He let himself fall into the chair in front of Raymond’s desk and slid the file across the wooden desktop.

“Guess who’s back in town. Never mind, you’ll never guess! It’s Frankie Ruiz! Also, I win because you couldn’t guess.”

“You did not-- Ruiz?” Raymond frowned. He flipped the file open. “You’re certain? It’s been years.”

“Yup, one hundred percent. Boyle got the info from one of his oldest CIs. Word on the street is that Ruiz had a falling out with some big supplier in Mexico and pretty much fled the country. Apparently, he went to Eastern Europe for a couple of months, but then he came back home. They say he’s all out of money and using again.”

“If there is anything to this, this is a case for the DEA, detective.”

“I mean, yeah, if it is him, bu-ut this guy is using a different name, see? And just because  _ I _ ’m sure it’s him, doesn’t mean it really is, right? So, we should go and get this guy and if he happens to be this major drug connect, we can give him to the DEA and be all like look what we found just by using regular, constitutional police work and being awesome at our jobs!” Jake grinned. “And then we can rub it in Commissioner Kelly’s face.”

“Hm.” Raymond leafed through the file, skimming the older reports. Just looking at the pages was enough to remind him of the crushing frustration he’d felt back when Ruiz had first slipped through their fingers. At the time Ruiz had been only a low-level dealer, and yet it had still stung. Of course, to add insult to injury, Raymond had also received a phone call from Hell’s vilest guardian herself to taunt him about the whole thing.

Now, after the time Ruiz had spent climbing the ranks, he would be a _ major _ arrest.

For that it would be worth the risk to bring him in. Being able to rub it in John Kelly’s face was irrelevant, Raymond told himself, as irrelevant as the potential screech of dismay such an accomplishment might elicit from a certain bat-like creature of the underworld.

“Boyle’s CI swears Ruiz is staying in this flower shop. Lilly’s.” Peralta pulled a photo of a storefront from the file.

Raymond blinked, surprised. “I know this place. It’s not too far from Columbia University.”

“Yeah, it’s not your usual dealer slash drug addict hideout, but our guy apparently still has some connections. Anyway, me and Boyle are going there this afternoon to arrest Ruiz, and I was thinking maybe  _ you _ would like to come along.”

“Hm.” Raymond considered the prospect of a few hours on the street, doing the kind of policework he had been denied for years. The kind of policework Peralta might describe as ʻepicʼ.

When he looked up from the picture, Jake’s face was shining with hope. It was painfully obvious how much this meant to the detective; as always, he was eager to impress Raymond, to make him proud, and not for the first time, though still somewhat despite himself, Raymond felt an answering warmth spread in his heart.

_ He brings something out in you, _ Kevin had mused a few days after his return from the safehouse,  _ and now I can finally see why. _

_ Oh? _

_ Well, he is incredibly juvenile and needy and so uneducated one cannot help but wonder about the state of the public-school system. But he is also surprisingly kind and quite sweet and… he looks up to you, Raymond. _

He leaned back in his chair, savoring the fond memory for a few seconds.

Then he cocked his head at Peralta, the look on his face completely blank.

“First of all, ʻneutralerʼ is not a word, detective. The comparative of ʻneutralʼ is ʻmore neutralʼ,” Raymond said slowly, taking a bit of pleasure in watching Jake’s face fall, “and secondly, it should be ʻBoyle and Iʼ, however you could simply say ʻwe are going there to arrest Ruizʼ because I will be coming with you.”

Jacob all but jumped out of his chair as he pumped his fist. “Yes!”

***

“There he is, just like my CI said.” Boyle pointed across the street where the suspect was straightening the florist sign as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

Raymond turned in the passenger seat of their unmarked car to survey the scene. The street was narrow and fairly busy, civilians walking past their car as Ruiz went back inside the shop.

“We should check for a back entrance,” Raymond said. He nodded at Boyle in the back seat, who returned the gesture. “Peralta and I will take the front. Are you ready?”

There was an almost manic glint to Peralta’s grin. “Captain, you know I was born ready!”

Raymond drew in a deep breath and shook his head, refraining from comment.

“Boyle, you go first,” he said.

They watched as Boyle went into a small alley that led around the building, then they got out of the car as well, ready to approach the flower shop. Only, the very moment they shut the car doors, a man emerged from the store. It was Ruiz.

He was looking at the ground, at first seeming distracted, but as soon as both Raymond and Peralta started walking faster in his direction, he looked up, his gaze found them, and he froze.

For a split second.

Then Ruiz turned on his heel and fled.

“NYPD,” Raymond yelled, “Stop!”

“Dammit!” Peralta tripped over the florist’s folding sidewalk sign but kept running. “NYPD! Freeze!”

They gave chase, pushing past civilians as they ran down the street.

Peralta was a little faster than Raymond; he was gaining on Ruiz, giving Raymond hope that they would be able to corner him.

But then Ruiz slowed down of his own accord.

Instinct taking over, Raymond ran as fast as he could to close the distance between himself and Jacob.

“NYPD, everyone down!”

The scene unfolded as if in slow motion. What Raymond saw was Ruiz, mid-run, pulling a revolver from an ankle holster and turning, aiming his gun at Jake. Jake had raised his own weapon, but he did not have a clear shot, neither of them did, not with the commotion of scared civilians around them.

Ruiz, however, did not care about the lives of anyone but himself. He would open fire, he would shoot Jake, Raymond knew this, he knew it in his bones and his body moved untethered from reason and rationality.

There was no thought in his mind, only the sound of the shot ripping through him, its echo fading instantly, taking him with it.

There was no pain, only a memory, one moment of his life shaken from the shattering amber of his consciousness.

_ A crowded bar, a cacophony of voices, laughter, Raymond gazing into his drink as he sips, his heart and stomach aflutter. The voice on the phone already seeming so distant, foolish to fall for the sound of someone’s laugh without knowing his face. The man on the phone could be anyone, he could be— _

_ A hand touches his shoulder, light, long fingers. _

_ “Excuse me, are you Detective Raymond Holt?” In person, his voice is softer, even more charming. _

_ Raymond turns and looks up into the bluest eyes he has ever seen. _

* * *

* * *

Raymond Holt woke up because he was hot, and he couldn’t move. He groaned, his eyes fluttering open. A weight was pressing down on his chest. He reached blindly for it and found warm skin.

“Kevin?”

His husband was half on top of him, face buried in Raymond’s chest, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. This was unusual.

Carefully, Raymond returned the embrace, one hand cupping the back of Kevin’s neck, the other settling on his waist.

“I’m sorry, Raymond,” Kevin mumbled, “I did not mean to wake you.”

“Is something the matter?” Raymond asked, vaguely concerned by his husband’s uncharacteristic behavior.

“No, I—” Kevin paused to draw in a deep breath. Raymond felt the cool displacement of air through the fabric of his pajama top. “It’s nothing, I’m being irrational.”

He frowned, not convinced. “You are upset.”

“I had a… disturbing dream. I’m sorry, I’m overreacting. It has made me quite emotional.”

Raymond’s eyebrows lifted.

“A nightmare? That  _ is  _ unusual for you. Would you like to relate the contents of your dream to me? Perhaps sharing the experience will make you feel better.”

Kevin brought up one hand and patted his chest.

“Thank you, but no. It was silly. Physical contact with you is comfort enough for me.”

Raymond shot a glance at the alarm clock on his bedside table. Wednesday, March 6 th , 6:25. If he wanted to stay on schedule, he would have to get up in five minutes – but then, wasn’t offering his husband emotional support more important than his plans for the day?

He stroked the back of Kevin’s neck, letting himself enjoy the feeling of holding his husband in his arms. They did not indulge in ʻsnugglingʼ nearly enough.

“I see. Well—" he began, about to suggest they adjust their position slightly to make it more comfortable when he realized that Kevin had stopped idly caressing his chest through his pajama top and was now rather determinedly undoing its buttons.

“Kevin?”

Kevin dropped a kiss on his neck. “This is what I find most comforting right now. You don’t mind, do you?” He proceeded to pepper Raymond’s skin with kisses while his nimble fingers undid button after button, giving him access to more skin to kiss and nibble. Raymond’s heartbeat quickened as his husband worked his way down his body.

“Um…” he said, any semblance of eloquence lost in the sensation of Kevin’s lips on his chest. “I… certainly do not mind.”

“Good.” Kevin ducked under the covers, his breath hot on Raymond’s abdomen.

Raymond closed his eyes and sank into his pillow. His husband’s hands settled on the waistband of his pajama bottoms and started to tug them down. He shifted, lifting his hips to facilitate Kevin’s undertaking.

The scrape of Kevin’s facial hair against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh sent a thrill up Raymond’s spine. Despite himself, he tensed in anticipation, blood rushing hot through his veins. Kevin nuzzled into him, the softness of his lips offset by the prickle of his beard. The feeling was intoxicating.

Raymond’s breath hitched when Kevin took him in his mouth.

Blindly, he reached under the covers, finding Kevin’s shoulders, the nape of his neck. Kevin’s movements were sweet and gentle; he did this like he did everything in life. Deliberately, carefully, thoroughly. Soft wet noises, the rustle of the covers, Raymond’s own labored breathing.

Tension rising within him, pressure building. Slow but steady.

He let himself fall into the rhythm of the soundscape and the sensations and groaned when the robotic beeping of the alarm clock suddenly tore through the pleasure. He swiped one hand at the offending gadget, hitting the button with too much force and sending the thing toppling to the floor. No doubt startled out of his slumber, Cheddar barked a few times at the unusual commotion in the bedroom.

Under the covers, Kevin released him and chuckled, tiny bursts of his breath cool on Raymond’s wet skin. Then the heat again and Kevin’s fingers, a tight, sure grip. Raymond knew he would not last like this and there was no point in holding back, not when Kevin was so eager to pleasure him.

Not when he started to move faster, when he made those little enthusiastic noises that had Raymond gasping for air.

“My darling,” he breathed, toes curling, fingertips pressing into the nape of Kevin’s neck as sweet release pulsed through him.

When Kevin emerged from under the covers, his face was deliciously flushed. Raymond drew him close, one hand reaching for the waistband of his husband’s pajama bottoms. Kevin, however, caught his wrist.

“You’ll be late for work, dear,” he said.

Out of habit Raymond glanced at the bedside table. Oh, right. Well, he decided, in light of these special circumstances, time did not matter all that much.

“Let me take care of you. You know I hate… unfinished business.”

Kevin, the sly devil, actually licked his lips. “I believe your business was finished,” he said. “You don’t want to set a bad example for your squad, do you, Raymond? Let’s just say…” He quirked an eyebrow, voice dropping to a suggestive whisper, “to be continued…”


End file.
